


A little fall of Rain

by JustLittleMe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A Little Fall of Rain, Angst, Barricades, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musicals, there's still death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLittleMe/pseuds/JustLittleMe
Summary: Enjolras is nearly shot in the first battle on the barricade, and Grantaire saves his life.





	A little fall of Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To Live By It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/968964) by [shelny18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/pseuds/shelny18). 



> Basically, the "A little fall of rain" scene, where Grantaire takes Eponiné's place.

Enjolras looked around at his friends as they heard the sound of the national guard approaching the barricade. The time had finally come to fight for the people of France, it was finally time to show the king what was right.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were standing close together, loading their guns, talking quickly and quietly. Joly and Bousette were resting their foreheads together, their smiles vibrant and nervous at the same time. Feuilly and Bahorel was punching each other’s arms as they put the loaded guns on a table, safely behind the barricade for easy access. Marius was sitting hunched on the barricade, peaking out through a hole in the wood. Enjolras frowned as he counted over his friends again. He couldn’t remember seeing Jehan or Grantaire, although the last one didn’t surprise him.

He turned around again, seeing a flash of Jehan’s red braid close by the door of the Musain.

“Jehan, are you prepared?” he asked, his voice raised enough so that the Romantic would hear him.

“Indeed, I am, dear Enjolras. Let them come” the poet grinned as he turned around, revealing Grantaire sitting on a stool behind him, his head lent backwards, resting against the wall of the cafe.

“And you, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked.

“I am ready to perish, Apollo” the drunk grinned. Enjolras did not give him a reply, merely rolling his eyes before turning back to the sound of approaching soldiers.

“They’re here” Marius spoke, moving carefully down the barricade.

“Company, halt!” a voice was heard. “Ready your guns!”

Enjolras repeated the command. The students picked up their weapons, finding gaps in the barricade where they could safely shoot without getting shot.

“Forward!”

“Ready yourselves!” Enjolras yelled out. The first shot ran out, a soldier fired, missing any of the students, but making splinters fly off a barrel sitting close to where Bahorel was hiding.

“Fire at will!” came Enjolras’ next call, and Feuilly’s gun ran out, seemingly prompting all others to start.

The shooting, the shouting, the running, the screams, all blended together. Enjolras found himself on top of the barricade, shooting down on the soldiers trying to climb over. He had also spotted Grantaire in the corner of his eye, fighting and reloading guns before handing them off to their friends, and he found himself grinning at the man’s seemingly new dedication.

He fired his gun, hitting a soldier in the shoulder, then turning around to reach for a freshly loaded one. Enjolras could faintly hear someone approaching, and he hurried to turn. A loud shot went off close to him, to close for comfort, but he did not feel any aches, so he shrugged it off and turned back to the fighting, only to be interrupted by Marius.

“Pull back or I blow the barricade” the younger man shouted, right in the face in one of the soldiers. He was holding up a barrel of gunpowder and a torch.

“And yourselves with it” the man sneered, a smirk playing at his lips as he worked to expose Marius’ bluff.

“And myself with it” Marius’ voice was flat, no sign of his determination wavering. Marius and the soldier stared at each other long and hard, a battle of wills on top of the battle for Paris. Marius moved the torched closer to the barrel, and everything froze. No one dared move as the soldier lent backwards.

“Pull back! Everyone off the barricade” the soldier called out. The national guard pulled away into a side street, leaving the students to regroup and reload.

“Great job, Marius” Enjolras grinned as he climbed back down.

“That was reckless, Marius, my life is not yours to gamble with!” Combeferre yelled out, shocking Courfeyrac with his surprising outburst, and Enjolras turned around to calm him down. He could not stop his smile when he caught Courfeyrac’s hand on his guide’s shoulder, his calming whispers so low that Enjolras couldn’t hear it.

A weak cough sounded from behind him, and he turned. Enjolras looked down to the bottom of the barricade, only to be met with Grantaire sitting lent backwards, yet again. Annoyance hit him, the cynic was probably still drunk, or his head was still pounding from the last time. Enjolras was about to reprimand him, when something stopped him.

Grantaire’s brows were furrowed, and his breath came out if short but violent pants. The leader hurried over to him, sitting carefully down beside the man.

“Grantaire, what did you do?” Enjolras was careful to keep his voice even and calm. He looked over Grantaire’s form again, and for the first time his eyes landed on the hand Grantaire kept at his side. With a shaking hand Enjolras touched the area around the cynic’s hand, pulling back as his fingers were met with hot liquid, they were covered in blood.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, Grantaire, what did you do?” desperation crept its way into Enjolras’ voice as he lifted Grantaire’s hand from his side.

“Couldn’t le him shoot you, now, could I. The others need you” Grantaire whispered, his breath hitching as he spoke.

“Combeferre, Joly, help him!” Enjolras yelled over his shoulder before giving the wounded man beside him his full attention. “You took the shot?”

“I did. And I would take it, again, and again, and again, and again…” Grantaire coughed out.

“You shouldn’t have done that, R” Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s cheek, bending down so that the cynic wouldn’t have to strain to be heard.

“Huh, that’s the first time you’ve called me that” Grantaire’s smile was small.

“Called you what?” Enjolras asked, looking frantically over his shoulder after help as Grantaire’s voice slurred. Combeferre and Joly weren’t moving, and Enjolras knew. He did not know how long it had been, and there was too much blood for it to not mean anything else than that it was too late.

“…R… ugh” Grantaire grunted in pain as he tried to sit up, but Enjolras’ hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Lie still, you’ll make it worse” Enjolras couldn’t reply properly. He didn’t know whether he had ever called Grantaire by his nickname before or not, but he apparently hadn’t. He didn’t know what it meant.

“It’s just… so cold” Grantaire muttered. It was June. It wasn’t cold. Enjolras lifted the wounded man into his lap, leaning upper body against his folded legs.

“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have taken the shot. You don’t even believe in this” Enjolras whispered as he helped Grantaire settle. Jehan brought over a blanket that he wrapped around the cynic, tears filling his eyes as he took in the blood covering his friend’s side.

“I might not believe in the cause, Apollo, but I crave the world you describe. I doubt the cause because of faults in humanity, but if there’s anyone that can change it, it’s you” Grantaire’s voice was slurred, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “I don’t believe in the cause, but I believe in you.”

Enjolras couldn’t reply, and he couldn’t stop the sob that escaped his throat as he took in the fading glint in his friend’s eyes.

“What can I do. What do you need, ‘Taire? Tell me how to help you” Enjolras brushed Grantaire’s wild curls from his face, bending down nearly low enough for their foreheads to touch.

“Just hold me, tell me about your vision. Stay with me until I fall asleep” Grantaire’s voice was fading, and his eyes had grown heavy. Enjolras nodded, and complied.

He talked about the freedom of the people, the equality of the classes, of the sexes, of the free education, of the democratic government they would build. The freeing of the oppressed. Of the freedom, equality, and brotherhood that would come with the new world. He spoke of these things in a voice so soft and kind that their friends around him wondered if this was the same man.  

When he finished, Grantaire’s breathing was so faint that he could hardly feel it. The only thing letting Enjolras know that he was still alive was the wet coughs that escaped each time he breathed out.

“You know Enjolras, I believe I was a little bit in love with you” Grantaire’s silent whisper shocked Enjolras, who could faintly hear the shocked breaths of their friends around them.

“I… I don’t know what to say”

“You don’t have to reply. It’s fine. Just… can you promise me one thing?” Enjolras was nearly unable to hear the words.

“Anything” he refused to not give the man his final wish.

“When I’m gone, will you kiss my forehead. As a last goodbye?”

“Of course, I promise” Grantaire nodded at the reply. Then the light faded from his eyes, and he was gone.

Enjolras let out a loud sob as he used his free hand to close Grantaire’s eyes. He placed a soft kiss on the cynic’s forehead, and he did not fight back as Bahorel lifted Grantaire from his grasp. He let Combeferre pull him to his feet, and he buried his face in Courfeyrac’s curls as his friend pulled him close.

He could see Joly and Bousset hugging, the two of them crying, and he felt a small tint of guilt for not letting the two of them say goodbye to their best friend. He could see Jehan, leaning over the table where Bahorel had laid Grantaire. He was probably the last person who had the right to be with the dying man in his passing moment. Any of the others were closer to him, anyone of them should’ve been able to say goodbye. But Enjolras couldn’t get himself to feel bad about it. He could only feel pain of what had been lost, and what he hadn’t even thought to gain, until it was taken from him. He also felt a steely determination. He would get the future he had just spoken about, or die trying.

“We have to win this, for Grantaire.”


End file.
